Ruthie, Queen of the Late Bloomers Post #4 - Breathing

The next thing I know I’m being hauled out of the gym by Miss Boyce, a special ed teacher. And by “hauled out of the gym” I mean with one arm around my waist and her hand cradling my left elbow, Miss Boyce is practically carrying me on her hip with my feet sluggishly drag-walking beside her.

Did the gym actually go silent? What is happening?

The silence in my ears is as deafening as the kids’ voices were before.

In a blur with absolutely no concept of time, I realize we are somehow in the athletic office, where Miss Boyce sets me down in a metal chair and hands me a yellow Gatorade. I hate yellow Gatorade, but I take a sip.

I can almost breathe now, but I’m still sweating.

“How ya doin?” Miss Boyce asks.

“I’m fine, but my brother’s probably gonna die.” This comes out of my mouth before I know what I’m actually saying.

“Now, why do ya think that, Ruthie?” Miss Boyce calmly asks, somehow not at all shaken by the death sentence I’ve given Mike.

I had no idea Miss Boyce even knew my name.

“It’s Ruthie, right?” She asks, suddenly unsure.

“Yeah.” I say weakly, wishing I could take back what I said about Mike dying.

“Now, what about your brother?” she asks again, mercifully still calm.

My breathing picks up again and Miss Boyce must notice because she tells me to take a deep breath. She takes one to show me how, I guess.

How am I supposed to take a deep breath when I can barely catch a little breath?

“What’s your brother’s name?” Miss Boyce asks.

“Mike.”

“Mike Lohrman is your brother?” she asks, seemingly surprised.

“Yeah. Do ya know him?”

“The senior, Mike Lohrman?” she asks as if checking to make sure I know who my own brother is.

Annoyed now, and breathing like a lung cancer victim, I say, “Yeah. The senior, Mike Lohrman.”

“He was a cadet teacher in my self-contained class in the fall. My kids loved him.” Miss Boyce says, smiling.

“Well, he’s going to the Air Force, so you might want to warn them.” Damn it. Why do I keep saying these things out loud?

“Warn them about what?” she asks curiously.

“Never mind.” I need to stop talking. And learn how to breathe.

“Ruthie, try bending over and putting your head between your legs. You look a little pale. Feeling dizzy again?”

“Again?” I ask as I bend over.

“Yeah – like before in the gym,” Miss Boyce says.

“Oh, that. I think I just got hot. Wasn’t it hot in there?!” I say, looking up at her now. I’m not sure what happened in the gym, and I sure as heck don’t wanna talk to Miss Boyce about it.

“Yeah, it was a little warm in there, but . . .?” Miss Boyce says it like a question, but then switches gears. “Let’s just get you calmed down and some blood flowing to your brain. Now, bend over again.” She gently pulls my shoulders down to my knees so my head drops between my legs. Amazingly, I begin to feel a little better.

“Have you had a panic attack before?” Miss Boyce asks as I stare at my shoelaces.

“Panic attack?!? No. Why would you say that?” I’m shocked that she would suggest I had a panic attack. I mean who has panic attacks?

I raise up and Miss Boyce doesn’t shove my head back down, but looks at me sort of sideways - almost as if she thinks I’m lying.

“Ruthie. Trust me, I know a panic attack when I see one.” She says with sympathetic eyes that I didn’t see before.

I say nothing and try to avoid looking Miss Boyce directly in the eyes.

“I think I should call your parents to come get you,” she says.

“No, I’m fine.” This is a lie. I’m definitely not fine. What the heck is a panic attack anyway? With my heart pounding through my chest again, it feels more like a heart attack. Or maybe it’s an aneurysm like my dad. No. No. No. It was probably just the crowded halls and all those sweaty kids in that oven of a gym.

“Really, I need to call your parents.” Miss Boyce continues.

I’m focused on the window behind Miss Boyce, where I can see a little sliver of the parking lot through the mini blinds. I’m trying to channel the fresh air into my lungs.

Then I picture those veterans and I’m thinking again about how dangerous the Air Force is. We have to find a way to get Mike out of his enlistment before it’s too late. I can’t believe Mom is just letting this happen, and Grandma Elle might as well take out an ad in the newspaper telling everyone how proud she is of him. It’s sick, if you ask me.

All these thoughts are bouncing around my head, I’m breathing hard, and I barely hear Miss Boyce talking.

“If the nurse were here . . . she’d check you over . . . file a report . . . she’d definitely call your parents . . . but her son vomited at preschool . . . she had to pick him up . . .”

At this point I realize Miss Boyce isn’t actually talking to me, but is thinking out loud.

“Miss Boyce, ya can’t call my parents.” I finally say, interrupting her rambling.

“What do you mean I can’t call your parents. Of course, I can call your parents. Wait, they’re probably here for the graduation, aren’t they? Ok, I’ll just go get them.” She starts to get up.

“No, they’re not here.” I say quickly. And then add, “My dad died when I was 7 and my mom’s at work. It’s a surgery day, so she’s super busy.”

“Oh, Ruthie. I had no idea. I’m so sorry about your dad. I didn’t know.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I say, used to people feeling sorry for me and still hating it.

“So, your mom’s a surgeon?” Miss Boyce asks, probably relieved to change the whole dead dad subject.

“No, she’s a vet tech.” I answer without going on to say that what Mom really wanted was to be a veterinarian, but she’d had Mike and gotten married instead. In fifth grade when we had the awkward sex ed unit, it didn’t take me long to do the math and figure out Mike had not been planned. Freaked out, I confessed to Kelli that my parents had to get married because my mom had gotten pregnant. To which she simply said, “So what?”

“Ok, then we’ll get a hold of Mike at the high school.” Miss Boyce says, satisfied with her solution and reaching for the phone on the desk.

“Nope, can’t do that either.” I say before she can start dialing.

“Ruthie, why on earth not?”

“Senior skip day.” I say, noticing that I’m back to breathing almost normally and the ridiculous sweating has stopped.

“For heaven’s sake.” Miss Boyce says, running her hand through her short blond spikey hair. What I would give to be able to wear my hair that short. I hate messing with my hair.

And just then, Kelli bursts through the door. “Cheese and rice, Ruthie, are you ok?!”

Kelli never cusses. If other kids said the things Kelli did, things like: cheese and rice, hokie smokes, and gosh dang it, they’d be banned for life from adolescence.

Ironically Kelli believes her parents when they say profanity is a sign of weakness. Almost everything else they say she blows off. As for me, I have Mike and Grandma Elle, who taught me every cuss word in the book. Neither of them think profanity is a sign of weakness, but Mom frowns upon it. So, of course, I cuss.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I say to Kelli.

“What the heck happened? Where’s the nurse? Did they call your mom?” Kelli asks in rapid fire order.

“Miss Boyce says I passed out.” I look at her, hoping she’ll let this pass. Before she has a chance to say anything about the panic attack thing, I quickly add, “The nurse’s kid puked at preschool so she had to pick him up, and no, it’s a surgery day so Mom’s busy at work.”

“Geez Louise, you scared the bejesus out of me.” Kelli says, calming down a little.

“She’s much better now.” Miss Boyce says. “Luckily, she didn’t hurt herself when she . . . fainted.” Miss Boyce and I trade looks as if we have a secret. I guess we do.

“Yeah, that was crazy,” Kelli says.

“But I do need to be sure she gets home safely. If your parents are here, Kelli, might we ask them to take Ruthie home? I don’t want her riding the bus.” Miss Boyce says.

“Ok, yeah, sure. No problem. Let’s go, Ruthie.”

Looking at me, Miss Boyce says, “Wait, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go back to the gym – as hot as it is in there, we don’t want you to . . . get dizzy again. I’ll stay here with Ruthie until the graduation program is over and then, Kelli, you and your parents can come and get her.”

“Sounds like a plan to me, but that means you’ll miss your students’ names being announced.” Kelli is a genius when she wants to be.

“Oh my goodness! You’re right. My students!”

“It’s cool, Miss Boyce, they already called my name, so I’ll just wait here with Ruthie and then we’ll meet up with my parents when the whole shindig is over.”

“Are you sure? I really do need to get back in there for my kids.”

“Absolutely. I got this.” Kelli says so confidently, even I’m impressed.

But when Miss Boyce leaves, Kelli loses it.

“Seriously, Ruthie, what the heck happened in there? It’s like your eyes were rolling in the back of your head and you couldn’t hear a word I was saying. Thank God Miss Boyce knew what to do. Holy cow! I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner, but Jillian and Josh grabbed me when I almost fell reaching for you, and then Mr. Shoemaker made us all sit down. Should I go get my parents? Geez!”

“Oh no! Ya think everybody saw what happened?!” I ask, picturing the whole gym staring at me being carried out by Miss Boyce.

“Well, the kids in our section saw for sure. Ruthie, you passed out. Who cares who saw?!”

“I probably looked like an idiot. . . Wait, if your parents saw, they’ll tell my mom. Shit. Shit. Shit.”

“Well, Miss Boyce was pretty slick getting you outta there. And they’re sitting way over on the other side of the gym up in the nosebleed section. So, they might not have seen, but anyway, your mom really should know about this. Geez, Ruthie!”

“No, she should most definitely not know about this!”

Shaking her head and ready to argue with me about my mom, instead Kelli says, “Ok, fine. But at least come home with me. Miss Boyce is right. You shouldn’t ride the bus.”

“I’m fine to ride the bus. And if you take me home, ya know my Mom will wanna know why.”

“Ruthie, this is serious. She should know.” Kelli pleads.

“It’s not that big of a deal. I just got too hot or something. Man, I’m just glad it’s the last day of school. Maybe over the summer everyone will forget it ever happened.”

“Wait, isn’t your grandma here? She always comes to these things. She could take ya home.” Kelli suggests.

“Nah, my mom told me this morning Grandma wasn’t gonna make it. No biggie.” I say trying to make it sound fine that Grandma didn’t come.

But Kelli’s right; Grandma Elle lives for things like eighth grade graduations. Personally, I could care less about the stupid thing.

But Grandma not being here is a big deal.